


The Secret of Its Skeleton

by newyorktopaloalto



Series: soon as you're in, you're out [3]
Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: F/M, Incest, Post-Canon, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre- Beatrice/Lemony meet-up, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-14
Packaged: 2019-10-09 17:17:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17411012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newyorktopaloalto/pseuds/newyorktopaloalto
Summary: Violet's meeting with the President of Orphan Affairs at the bank went later than she had expected, but the answer she had received from the unhelpful woman had been as much as she and Klaus had suspected.With the disappointment of the day, she was glad to be home.





	The Secret of Its Skeleton

**Author's Note:**

> This pairing has gripped me tight and I will not stop until this is a series. There will be a couple from Klaus' POV, and a few ensemble fics to round out the post-season 3 universe.
> 
> Don't own, so please don't sue. 
> 
> Title is a play on a line from the T.S. Eliot poem [Rhapsody on a Windy Night](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/44215/rhapsody-on-a-windy-night). 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who reads this and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

The door to their small flat—a different one now than from only a few months ago, but after as many years as domiciles, they all had started to blend into one greyscape for Violet, changed only by the background of their aging and the seasons—creaked as Violet opened it, but shut quietly while she looked around to see if anyone was awake and waiting for her arrival. Considering the time, she wasn't all that surprised that Klaus had ensured that both Sunny and Beatrice were shut up asleep in their room, but she still couldn't quite fathom that it had taken her quite this long of time to get her bank affairs in order. Then again, considering the President of Orphan Affairs was just as obstinately unhelpful as her former Vice President, Violet should have only been surprised at the fact that it didn't take four days and seventeen feet of paper for her to be told what she had already suspected. 

“Violet?” 

“Sorry—were you waiting up for me?” 

Klaus, whose slumped form on the couch she had glanced over as though part of the décor, shook his head and gestured to where the book he had been reading had fallen into his lap. They both knew that, while not quite technically lying, he was stretching the truth to its very limits—the only reason he had been reading this late at all was so that he wouldn't have to go to sleep in a bed that another person belonged with him in; Violet, who had thought she wouldn't want to talk about what had happened, found herself grateful that her brother was not able to fall asleep without her and without knowing what had happened. 

“What did they say?” 

Violet waited to speak until he had placed a scrap of paper, one of her already made invention blueprints half-drawn on the spot she could see, into the heavy tome to mark his place in his perusal of whatever information he had deemed of import. Even then, she continued to keep silent and let her own perusal of Klaus' sluggish motions—while not still in the thrall of sleep, he was closer to that still than full wakefulness—inform her as to when the younger teen would be in a proper mindset to actually receive the information relayed to him. After a moment he gestured for Violet to take the place next to him, still warm from where his legs had been only a minute or so before. His arm, which he had snaked around her the second she had sat down, pulled Violet close by the waist. She stayed pliable as Klaus rubbed his face against the top of her head, muttering to himself as he finally woke fully up; she was glad that Klaus was able to be comfortable enough to not wake at the slightest of disturbances, and she also knew that it might be the last time he would be able to do so for awhile. Violet believed that Klaus was cognizant of much the same, and by how his other arm came to tangle at the base of her neck, fingers knotting through the parts of her hair that had fallen from her ribbon in her journey back, her suspicion was confirmed. 

“What we thought then.” 

“It's only another eighteen months,” Violet said, failing to sound as optimistic as she had intended and Klaus huffed out a breath against her ear, muttering a 'thanks, Phil,' to which she barely restrained herself from pushing him off of the couch in retaliation. As though sensing her thinning humor, Klaus' grip on her waist tightened and he tugged on her hair gently in a teasing motion before pulling her legs over his lap, arm against them to keep her in place. 

“It's idiotic, is what it is. A willfully gross misinterpretation of what should be impartial justice.” 

“I agree,” Violet replied, brushing a stray lock of his hair behind his ear with gentle fingers, letting them rest at the spot behind his ear that she knew made his heart beat a little faster than it usually did, “but I've been convicted of a felony and that's how the bank runs itself.” 

He was silent—there was nothing to say that wasn't just throwing himself against a brick wall—and his fingers tapped out an absent rhythm against where they rested on Violet's outer thigh; she understood his restlessness at their predicament, his quest in a hunt for some sort of legal snipe, his need to be able to do more than wait for his own legal maturation and the ability to gain the Baudelaire fortune as an upstanding citizen in the eyes of both the law and the bank. Violet, unable to think of anything to say in order to mitigate her words before, instead chose to take hold of Klaus' chin to keep him still as she brushed her lips, feathering and meant to put some levity in the decaying moment, against his. He responded easily and for a moment they lost themselves in a gentle press of lips, shifting further towards one another until they could get no closer. 

“I could have been thrown in jail that very first day if not for the bits of evidence at that bank,” she whispered after awhile, the disappointment of the culmination of everything about her day overtaking an occupation with Klaus that she believed could have led to a less disappointing, if not later than usual, night. “And today I managed to get home before getting another curfew violation.” 

“Barely,” Klaus replied testily, blithely ignoring the first half of her statement, before he shook his head with an exasperation Violet didn't quite feel as though she deserved, considering the day's circumstances. 

“But don't talk to me further about those odious cretins who deem themselves judges of a superior court, I'll just blather on—we have more important things to talk about.” Klaus pursed his lips in an impression of lofty self-importance, and Violet pinched his earlobe before he could further employ his deadly accurate interpretation of the gilded moneyed—her brother knew she liked it when he put on airs, a confidence and bravado that she usually only caught wicked glimpses of, but she also couldn't help her innate, flustered, reaction to the teasing. 

“Violet!” he yelped, and she grinned while shushing him, Klaus' voice having had risen several pitches in both tone and volume. In retaliation, he dug his fingers into the spot below her ribs where she was most ticklish, and she had to muffle her reaction into his shoulder before _she_ ended up being the one to wake Sunny and Beatrice after what was probably only an hour or so after they had retired for the night. 

“What important things?” Violet asked after managing to slap his hand away, her breath stuttering for a moment as it proceeded to settle, warm, heavy, and surprisingly large, against her navel. 

Klaus hummed in reply, leaning against the back of the couch as she leaned against him. One of Violet's hand wended its way to the nape of his neck, ignoring the slight ache at the angle, and she scratched idly at his hairline with chipped fingernails. With almost a purr, he leaned into her touch, neck bending forward until his forehead rested on the nape of her own neck, his lips caressing Violet's skin just above the hem at the back of her shirt's neckline. 

“What important things?” It took Violet a moment ask her question a second time, having had been easily distracted by Klaus' gentle ministrations. He smiled against her back. 

“Beatrice wrote her name today. Sunny finished reading _The Hobbit_ —and do I pretend to understand her predilection for overwrought fantasy? No I don't, and she still won't read _The Vicomte of Beagelonne_ , so you understand where her mind is currently at.” 

“She always has been contrary,” Violet smiled, squirming her other hand below Klaus' on her stomach, tangling their fingers together before bringing them up to her lips to kiss his knuckles, keeping them against her mouth for a moment before guiding his hand down to her diaphragm. 

“Did you save the paper Beatrice wrote it on?” 

Klaus nodded against her neck, his free hand gesturing vaguely to the desk perched in the corner; in the bottom drawer was a firebox—a physical record of everything they could accrue in case of a terribly devastating fire. Small orphans, which Violet and Klaus no longer were but whom their charges very much were, were often sought out and either lured from their bedroom in the dead of night—or at a cafe, or a deli, or any sort of library or community building—or have their parents dispatched of in what the authorities always concluded to be an unfortunate accident. Violet nodded, citing a quick thanks that both knew was more perfunctory than actually needed—Klaus, too, would loathe to leave that scrap of paper behind, one of his scribbled notes marking up the other side, or on the curb with the rest of the rubbish. 

“I discovered what might be a loophole in our parents' will.” 

Violet stilled. It took her a few moments to regain her equilibrium, and as soon as she did she whirled around to face Klaus, straddling his lap as she pushed their noses together, and what must have been a slightly crazed look on her face as she searched his eyes for a sign that she might have misunderstood. He blinked, nonplussed but somehow keeping staid, back at her until she cupped his face in both of her hands.

“What do you mean?” 

Obviously not intending for quite this intense of a reaction, Klaus stuttered on whatever he might have said next, his eyes going a little wide as Violet's own eyes bored into him. She watched his expression go through a gambit of emotion, herself a little disassociated from the happenings and from the obvious distress her younger brother found himself suddenly embroiled in. And were she a little less generous in her thinking, Violet would fathom as to what sort of reaction he had been expecting, if not exactly this one. 

“Klaus,” she demanded as he continued to keep markedly silent. As though to further coax the answer out of him, Violet let her thumbs caress over his cheekbones and up to where his glasses met his ears, gently plucking them off of his head and onto the small table off to the side of the couch. “Klaus, what did you find?” 

“I don't know how much it will help, it's so convoluted that even I can't understand the context of some of these provisions—not without the legal expertise of one versed in both probate and criminal law.” 

“Klaus!” 

“So I was reading the will against the copy of _The Makings and Markings of Concocting a Will When All Your Associates are Deemed Criminals by a Corrupt Justice System_ that I've had on hold at the library for the last seven months—apparently it's a popular book in this town.”

Despite wanting her brother to get to his point, Violet couldn't help the snort that came out of her at the reminder of the continued corruption of their High Court—even if the justices were, all three of them, different than the ones the Baudelaire's had found themselves facing in a hotel that was now only rubble and ash. 

“Right? 

“Anyway, in chapter three I found a footnote that might correlate with a footnote in our parents' will—one that we wouldn't have thought to look for, wouldn't even need to look for, unless we were in this very situation.” 

“So it's not clear-cut.” 

“Is anything?” 

Holding in what could have been a vituperative retort, Violet instead took in Klaus' self-deprecating smile, his grounding hold around her waist where she was still pressed tight to him, and the slight way his eyes crossed as he tried to focus in on her when their faces were way too close together for any sort of detail. Violet, in this moment, knew that no one else in her life, past, present, and future could ever hold a candle in her heart and soul than Klaus Baudelaire was able to by slogging through this existence with her every day. 

“Yes,” she finally said, and by the way Klaus' smile brightened, crooked front teeth on full display—Violet's mind, despite the inopportune moment, flashed on feeling those teeth against her skin at varying pressure, his his lips and tongue soothing the sting before he simply moved to another, unmarked, place—Klaus seemed to understand her sentiment. 

The two of them, both apart and together, were crystal clear and cut, and Violet knew that she along with her brother would never stray from the foundation upon which they had built the rest of their family's lives. Every time Violet had been away, every time they were separated, there appeared in the center of her chest an ache that she knew was psychosomatic—Klaus, only in hushed whispers when pressed tightly together under the covers of their bed on nights so late the dawn was filtering through the blinds, confessed the same, and if it _was_ nothing more than a trick of psychology, Violet was sorely glad it was happening to the both of them. 

“This current matter is not clear-cut.” 

Violet nodded absently, letting their noses brush against each other as she trailed one of her hands down to Klaus' collarbone, tapping a light rhythm against the jutting bone as he licked his lips unconsciously—for an agonizingly brief moment his tongue flicked against the seam of her lips. With her own ministrations not an overt need to distract him, Violet still felt a tug at her core to not let his assertions about the probable futility of this newfound discovery dominate what could have otherwise been a pleasant night—her own bad news and subsequent fluctuating mood notwithstanding. Despite her selfish want, however, Violet understood that they could not let the subject go without a care, that they would be forced to face it for a little bit longer tonight; it was her job, and she had no regrets taking on this appointed role as soon as Klaus had developed a personality beyond his babyish ramblings, to make sure that her brother would not weigh himself down with unnecessary qualms and morose skepticism. So Violet would make the rest of this discussion quick, painless, and hopefully full of enough distraction to keep Klaus out of a simmering, melancholic frustration that tended to come out at the most inappropriate of times—the hormonal imbalances of teenage years only compounding Klaus' already frenetic personality. 

“Is there a chance something can be done?” Violet asked steadily, her eyes on Klaus a subtle promise, her hand tracing up and down the curve of his neck, keeping the younger teen focused more on her rather than whatever thought processes would undoubtedly occur if he had one hundred percent of his focus on the answer. 

“Of course,” he said, one of his hands sneaking its way up from her waist to bury itself in her hair, fingers light as his palm rested against the back of her head. Violet, deeming it a little unfair that Klaus should be able to make her shiver with just those simple motions, decided it was wholly necessary to extract revenge upon the poor fellow at the end of their conversation—were Violet to have her way, he wouldn't know what had hit him until it was too late to do anything but sit back and ride the metaphorical wave. “It has a better chance than a lot of things being able to be done.” 

“Okay.” 

“Okay?” 

“Tomorrow we'll discuss it further—tonight, let's just have this moment of 'maybe.'” She placed fingertips, gentle, against Klaus' lips to stall any speech he might have made. “I understand that nothing may come of it, and that we're counting our eggs before they hatch, but after today? I _need_ this little bit, and I know you do as well.” 

Klaus, stymied for the moment, nodded in mute reply. 

“Good,” Violet whispered, “good. 

“You did good, Klaus—I can't believe you found something after all this time.” She paused for a moment to place a gentle kiss on his lips before continuing. “Thank you continuing this work for us in spite of our protestations.” 

“You don't need to—”

“Thank you,” Violet repeated, and watched as Klaus pursed his lips in response to being blithely ignored and spoken over, a pout overtaking it as he realized she wasn't going to let him say anything to the contrary. 

“You're welcome,” Klaus finally begrudged, rolling his eyes as Violet grinned at his reluctant compliance. 

“Now, did you eat dinner? Or did you forget to again?” 

Violet, who took the bold path of not answering Klaus' question, knew that her silence was an answer in and of itself; Klaus was, however, only trying to force the spotlight off of him, which Violet was loathe to do, considering how often it seemed to her that her younger brother got the least consideration in their dealings with others, with the children, and with each other. She knew that Klaus would not agree with that assessment, and she even knew that most of the time Violet, herself, would not agree with that assessment, but she also figured that whenever she did feel that way, there was little to no reason _not_ to heap deserved praise onto the person who had always, it seemed, been her lifeline. Finally, after a staring match, she let herself up and off of the couch, which in turn let her attention shift away from trying to bore itself fully into Klaus' soul—which, and Violet could admit this easily, was probably a little disconcerting to be on the receiving end of. 

“I could eat,” she finally decided on, holding out a hand for Klaus to take and planting her feet apart to actually pull up his weight. Violet was strong for her size, but Klaus only seemed to be growing taller every time they turned around. “But only if you already have something prepared. If not, I'll make it myself.” 

“I wasn't offering to cook for you,” Klaus replied with a scoff and a wink before standing with less of her help than as a mere comfort. “Sunny left a plate in the oven for you when she made dinner because she knew you probably wouldn't eat and wouldn't make the time to make something of nutritional value once you got back home.” 

“Cunningly observant child.” 

“Takes after you.” 

Violet snorted, inelegant, and narrowed her eyes up to where Klaus was beaming down at her, unrepentant in his amusement. 

“Yes, and Beatrice can only fall sleep to Kafka, so I believe we're equally at fault for the children's little idiosyncrasies.” 

At some point in their stifled giggles, Violet had pulled Klaus close to her in a tight hug, burying her face in his chest as best she could while still trying to keep up the motions that kept her from giving into the churning disappointment of the blow their family had endured—the formal denial of her inheritance was a months-time coming, but to actually hear it said and signed was another matter entirely. 

“Let's get you some food,” Klaus whispered after what must have been at least five minutes later, and Violet realized that she hadn't done well in her denial of her emotional state after all and was, in fact, holding with a desperate abandon to Klaus, who bore the brunt of her force with a content enough demeanor. 

“Yes,” she agreed, pulling away with a pat to Klaus' chest and a half-smile to his concerned visage. “What did Sunny make tonight?” 

And as Klaus answered her query, Violet let his voice more than his words flow over her. Despite all the confusion of the past months, the turbulent machinations of forces beyond the siblings' control, and the inevitable failure of what they had thought as resolute, Violet wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world.

**Author's Note:**

> xoxo 
> 
>  
> 
> feel free to contact me at newyorktopaloalto@mail.com


End file.
